


Gentlemen of the Press

by PrussianInAmerica



Series: His Guy Friday [2]
Category: His Girl Friday (1940), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/M, Gen, Reporter!Greg, Reporters, Talk about hanging someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrussianInAmerica/pseuds/PrussianInAmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlockian spin on a single scene from His Girl Friday.</p><p>(Blame EventHorizon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentlemen of the Press

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EventHorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/gifts).



> Last year, I started reading a fic by EventHorizon (right now I'm highly sleep deprived and cannot remember which one, but I'll come back and change this later, don't worry) in which His Girl Friday was watched by Mycroft and Greg. I didn't think anything of it at the time other than it sounded like a good movie. Awhile later, I had a fight with my girlfriend and I wanted to watch something that didn't remind me of her at all. His Girl Friday came to mind. Luckily it was on Netflix. I watched it and fell in love with it. I spent the next year wanting a Mystrade take on it but lacking the ambition or skill to write it myself. Today, I happen to be very productive and very sleep deprived, so I sat down and cranked this out. It borrows HEAVILY from the movie, but I tried to put a slightly different slant on it.

"What do you think the Post will do without Lestrade?"

"You really think Mycroft Holmes will ever let him go?"

"Everybody knows what he did to Gregson when he wanted to go to Sussex. Had him thrown in jail for arson."

"Forgery."

"Was it?"

"Get me some change."

"Hey, Dimmock. Hey, Stairway Sam!"

"Huh?"

"Would you mind turning on some lights?"

"Sure."

"So dark you can't see anything in here."

"So who's this bird Lestrade's runnin' off with?"

"I dunno, Gloria something."

"I give it six months."

"Why?"

"He won't be able to stay away from the paper any longer than that. Did you see him when that bell went off?"

"It must be pretty nice to be able to walk out of a place and quit."

"Not bad."

"Yeah, I had a publicity gig offered to me last year. Wish I'd have taken it."

"I'd like a job on the side."

"A desk and a secretary. I wouldn't mind a nice big blonde, with big brown eyes."

"I'll bet you ten to one it don't last six months. He's just like us."

"Well, well, Miss Molly Hooper."

"Hello Molly."

"Hey Molly, how's tricks?"

Molly leveled a steady glare at the group of liars huddled around the table, playing cards. For a woman of her sunny disposition it should have been no easy task, but she'd gotten lots of practice the last few months.

"I've been looking for you tramps."

"Come to call on Moriarty? He's right across the court yard."

"Better hurry up."

"Nice bunch of roses you sent Jim. What do you want done with them tomorrow morning?"

"A lot of wise guys, aren't you?"

"What do you want, Moll? You're breaking up the game."

"I came to-" She cut herself off as another reporter brushed past her to get into the room. She didn't recognize him, which was odd. "I came to tell you what I think of you," Molly pushed herself closer to the table, standing right between two of the men now. "All of you."

"Keep your shirt on."

"If you were worth breaking my nails on, I'd tear your face wide open."

"What are you sore about, sweetheart? Wasn't that a swell story we gave you?"

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"You crumbs have been making a fool outta me long enough. I never said I loved Jim Moriarty and was willing to marry him on the gallows. You made that up! And about my bein' his soul mate and havin' a love nest with him."

"You've been sticking around that cuckoo ever since they threw him into the death house."

"That's a lie!"

"Everybody knows you're his girlfriend."

"I met Mr. Moriarty just once in my life! When he was wanderin' around in the rain without his hat and coat on, like a sick dog. The day before the shooting. I went up to him like any human being would, and I asked him what was the matter. And-and he told me about being fired after being on the same job for fourteen years. And I brought him up to my room because it was warm there!"

"Oh put it on a phonograph."

Molly could feel herself nearing tears, so it was only natural that she didn't notice the new reporter in the corner, watching and typing. "Listen to me, please! I'm telling you, he just sat there, talking to me all night! And-and in the morning he was gone! He didn't lay a hand on me, not once." She paused to gather herself. It didn't do much good. "And I never saw him again until the day of the trial. Sure I was his witness!"

"And what a witness."

"That's why you're persecuting me! Because Jim Moriarty treated me decent, and not like an animal!"

"This is a press room, we're busy."

"Yeah, why don't you go see your boyfriend? He's got a nice room."

"Won't have it for long, though, left a call for seven AM."

"It's a wonder a bolt of lightening doesn't come down and strike you all dead!"

THUD.

Everyone looked to the window. After a few seconds Molly made her slightly panicked way over to it. A few policemen were gathered around a gallows, resetting it.

"What's that?" But she already knew the answer.

"They're fixing up a pain in the neck for your boyfriend."

The young woman gasped. "Shame on you. Shame on you!" She steadied herself on the back of someone's chair. "A poor little fellow who never meant anybody any harm, sitting there right now with the angel of death beside him! And you're cracking jokes!" One of the reporters got up and tried to steer her out of the room, but she pushed him away. "Get off of me!"

"Come on, Molly, let's get out of here." A new voice piped up, taking her other arm gently and pulling her towards the door. She looked up to see the reporter she hadn't recognized.

"They're not human!" She cried, following him.

"I know, they're newspapermen." He wasn't looking at her, instead giving a dark look to all the reporters they passed.

"All they've been doing is lyin'! All they've been doing is writin' lies!"

"I know, let's go."

"Why won't they listen to me?"

He shut the door behind them and walked her to the stairs, where he suggested she go home and get some sleep. But as she made her tearful way downstairs, she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep for a long time.


End file.
